Farce (A Masquerade in Three Acts)
by Pluma Desatada
Summary: When Tony wakes up in an old, abandoned factory, tied down to a chair, he expects a psychotic Loki, not cake and birthday hats.


**Title: **Farce (A Marquerade in Three Acts)

**Rating**: T

**Length: **9.5k-ish

**Pairing:** Frostiron a.k.a. Loki/Tony Stark if you squint and tilt your head to the side.

**Warnings: **typical violence one might expect from dealing with a psychopathic villain.

**A/N: **This is the result of one whole afternoon of rp with CirqueDuDemonata. She played Tony and came up with the starter, and I made up stuff along the way. I admit I had more fun than should be legal making Loki so nuts...

**Summary: **When Tony wakes up in an old, abandoned factory, tied down to a chair, he expects a psychotic Loki, not cake and birthday hats.

**Read the fic version at AO3** ( archive of our own *dot* org *slash* works *slash* 738400) **or at my Tumblr** (plumadesatada *dot* tumblr *dot* com *slash* post *slash* 46483567725 )

* * *

**Farce (A Masquerade In Three Acts)**

**by Cirque du Demonata and ****Pluma Desatada**

* * *

Tony woke to a bright light shining in his face and a migraine killing his head. As he struggled to figure out what was going on and just how he ended up wherever he was, he realized that he was tied to a chair. Squirming in the ropes that bound him, he felt multiple cuts and bruises stinging in protest. '_What the hell did I get myself into this time?'_ he thought. For the life of him, he couldn't remember how he had ended up god-only-knows-where, beaten and tied up. Softly groaning at the pain in his head, he blinked until the light slightly cleared. He then squinted in an attempt to make out something in the shadows cast by the light.

After struggling a bit more in the ropes, he stilled, realizing something was wrong. His mind raced as he looked down, noticing that he could no longer see the familiar and comforting glow of the arc reactor. Was it broken? He could feel his breath getting heavy at the thought, only to outright panic when he saw the _reactor itself_ was no longer in his chest. He was close to hyperventilating at the idea of dying a slow, painful death from the shards in his heart and he frantically glanced around the room for something—anything—he might use or do to get out the chair and escape.

It didn't even cross his mind to wonder how long he must have been out cold and apparently fine without the machine in his chest.

* * *

Hidden in the shadows, Loki watched and waited, smirking. The mortal didn't freak out at first, which was disappointing but understandable, once he thought about what Barton had told him about Stark. 'He must be used to waking up in strange places,' he mused, stroking his chin pensively. He wondered how the mortal would react when he spotted the hole in his chest where the _night-light_ was missing.

And there is was. Satisfaction rose in Loki's chest at the sheer _panic_ in Stark's eyes. Oh, to have him completely at his mercy was most excellent. The mortal wouldn't die, not with Loki's magic keeping him alive yet, but Stark didn't know that. Couldn't possibly know he had already survived five hours of being unconscious without the device in his chest.

Smiling, Loki wondered if he could make himself unconscious again just by panicking, and giggled. It seemed the mortal heard it, for he raised his head and his gaze snapped up towards Loki.

"Who's there?" He barked, momentarily forgetting about the situation.

"Aw," Loki complained, artful disappointment pouring from his voice, spelled so to the mortal it would seem to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Forgot the spell hid me from sight only," he chastised himself, clucking his tongue. Letting out a very sad sigh, he made himself visible again. "Just little old me, Man of Iron," he announced, tossing the arc reactor in the air and catching it, making sure he had Stark's attention.

His smile was sharp and jagged like a serrated knife as he tossed the device up and caught it again. Then the lights turned off abruptly, leaving it as the only light in the room. The limelight itself, which Loki tossed it up again, shining bright as it turned and turned around in the air, up and down, up and down, illuminating Loki in brief flashes of eerie white-blue light as he walked towards Stark.

* * *

Tony's eyes narrowed into a glare at the sound of Loki disappointed voice. A low growl slipped from him as he announced his presence before he caught sight of the arc reactor. His eyes followed its movement as it was tossed into the air over and over again, the motion made only clearer by the sudden darkness in the room. Panic started to overcome him again as the god neared him and he was sure his face was pale. Had he still had his arc reactor and some sense of security, he would have commented on Loki's 'little old me' remark, but with the rising panic all he could do was stare in silence.

"Look at you, all _petrified_ and speechless," Loki crooned, swiping the side of his hand under Stark's chin. It came away drenched in the man's cold sweat, and he wiped it on his trousers, a cold, eerie blue sneer of disgust twisting his lips.

Tony opened his mouth to disagree, to say that he wasn't petrified, but nothing came out. So he closed it, shame and terror obvious on his features.

"Who would have guessed that all you needed to shut up was for someone to take out your _batteries_?" Loki grinned, the light of the reactor illuminating his face from below like right out of a horror story.

Then he promptly threw the device into the ground, smashing it into pieces, and plunging the room into complete darkness.

A sharp, almost pained cry escaped Tony when he watched his life source impact the concrete floor and shatter. His mind raced, calculating how long it would take for him to die without—_hang on_. It was in that moment that the thought struck him that he wasn't dead yet, when he should be on the verge of death, if not way past it by now.

* * *

The darkness was complete, and the lack of sight made Loki's hearing even stronger, so he heard the gasp with which realisation dawned on Stark. Aw, so soon._ Pity_. He had been hoping to make the man piss himself in fear, just to be able to lord it over him.

"Apologies," he said conversationally, no longer using his practised villain-voice. With a snap of his fingers, lights flickered on overhead. "That was overkill, I know." They were in an abandoned factory, and it showed; old machines, rust everywhere, a thick layer of dust and broken windows surrounded them. He would have cleaned up, but he liked the _atmosphere_ of the place. "I couldn't resist," he grinned, carelessly stepping on a piece of the reactor that hadn't shattered completely, finishing the job.

Stark flinched at the sound of the last bit of the reactor being destroyed. He was silent for a while, still blinking at the glare of the sudden light. "You... Couldn't resist scaring me half to death?" He asked slowly, his gaze lifting up from the shattered remains of his 'batteries' to Loki.

"No," Loki crooned, hand grabbing Stark's chin snake-fast, "I really could not." The mortal tried to lean back as Loki reached for his chin but he was tied down too well. Menacingly, Loki lifted a foot up to the seat between Stark's tied legs – the mortal shifted uneasily – and leaned closer until his face (stony and expressionless, eyelids at half-mast) was right in front of his. "You make it _so_ hard to," he breathed, and his upper lip curled in a sneer that left no doubt as to what he thought of the mortal, "_scaredy-cat_." His grip on Stark's face would leave bruises. Three black smudges on his corpse, if he decided to kill him.

Stark bit his lip and searched Loki's face for some indication of what was to happen to him. He was quiet as Loki sneered at him, apparently ignoring or not feeling the pain of the bruising grip on his face. But Loki could see in his eyes as his mind continued to race, as he tried to think of some way out of his current situation. The mortal moved against the ropes again, finding them to be just as secure around him as before.

The corner of Loki's mouth twitched and he bit his lip to prevent the smile from overcoming his face. It wouldn't do for Stark to learn that Loki was tormenting him only for shit and giggles. He dropped his hand from Stark's face to the ropes binding his chest to the chair and wormed his finger under the tight bonds, pulling on it. "Oh, awe the wopes huwting widdle Anthony?" he teased in his best baby-voice, putting a mock-concerned pout upon his face. "Shall big, bad Loki make them looser?"

Narrowing his eyes at the twitch in Loki's lips, Stark glanced down to the finger wiggling under the restraints before his gaze lifted to Loki's. The god could feel a chill running down his spine at the mocking words and obviously fake concern on the god's face. "If you're offering then, yes," he all but growled.

'_So the mortal finds his spine, at last_,' Loki thought, amused. "If you ask nicely, mayhap I shall consider it," he replied, not sure he disliked the sudden defiance. It would be even better to break his spirit and then toss him aside, the way he and his little _team_ had done to Loki.

"Give me a reason to and I'll consider asking nicely," the mortal replied in kind, tilting his head back against the chair. His reactor was gone and Loki knew he didn't know how he was still alive. He probably felt as if he had nothing to lose at the moment, as if he could afford a bit of defiance. Stark was proud; even he did cave afterwards, at least he would be able to say he went down with a bit of a fight.

'_Too much spine_.' Mutely, Loki straightened and used the foothold he had on the chair to tip it backwards. His eyes glittered as he watched the chair fall as in slow motion, landing on the mortal's arms, tied as they were behind the back of the chair. Then, with the mortal appropriately winded and speechless before him, Loki stepped on his chest and pressed down – not so hard as to break ribs but hard enough that the mortal wouldn't be able to breath – long enough to make his point. "I am sorry, I could not hear you for a moment there. What were you saying?" He let up the pressure on Stark's chest, letting him suck in air again to answer.

* * *

Tony's eyes went wide as the chair tipped backwards, and he struggled uselessly in the ropes that bound him. He gritted his teeth before he landed on his arms, having already imagined the pain as the world tilted, and his air was knocked out of him just in time for Loki to press his foot down on his chest. As he tried to take in some air, or shift under Loki's asphyxiating foot to manage it, he forgot to calm the panic rising again in him.

He gasped for breath when the pressure on his chest let up, inhaling and exhaling quickly several times, relishing in the fresh air, before he could mutter a response. "Please," he breathed, before taking another deep breath and giving the god a death glare.

"There we go," Loki cooed proudly. "And they say an old dog cannot learn new tricks." It was with a smile that Loki waved his hand, making the ropes simply melt into thick, oily smoke that volatilized into the air. Tony tried not to inhale it.

Tony quickly pulled his arms out from under the chair as the ropes melted away but continued to glare, now feeling actually worried about what the psychopath wanted from him.

"Good boys get rewards," the alien announced, a smile in his voice, and he crouched down to pat Tony's cheek a couple of times before actually helping him sit up. "My apologies," he lied again, combing some of Tony's stray hairs back in a mockingly gentle manner, "I think I overdid it again." Then he giggled.

It was _sickening_.

Tony bit his lip again, fighting all his instincts not to pull away and hiss the unwelcome touch. "You may have..." he mumbled, looking down and away from the god. Nodding and grinning would only take him so far.

"Shhhh," Loki murmured, again cupping Tony's face, only gently this time, and tilting it up.

Tony chewed his bottom lip as watch the alien. He studied Tony for a moment, as if searching for something. If it wasn't repulsion or maybe fear, Tony didn't know if he found it.

"I know, I overstepped my boundaries, sweetling," Loki said at last, and Tony almost gagged at the nickname. "But you!" Loki's eyes widened, as did his deranged smile. "You are to blame as well! I have apologised." Loki's other hand buried itself in Tony's hair at the back of his head, a parody of a lover's touch, before making a fist and pulling on his hair so Tony couldn't look away. "Now it's your turn, my dear Man of Iron."

Gritting his teeth, Tony stared at Loki for a moment before swallowing. "An apology for what?" he asked softly, trying his best not to snap at him. '_Play along, Stark_,' he reminded himself.

* * *

Loki still wasn't sure if he disliked that contained, simmering anger in Stark's eyes. "For disrespecting me," he said, matching the mortal's soft voice, "for fighting me at every turn, even when I have you at my mercy." His thumb delicately stroked Stark's soft cheekbone.

Stark frowned at Loki's soft words, as if not quite getting where he went wrong. He tensed at the delicate stroke, as if having expected pain, and Loki had enough.

"Would it kill you to just _give in for one minute_?" he snarled, shaking the mortal's head angrily by the grip he had in his hair.

"I—I'm sorry," the mortal quickly stated, his tone frightened but cooperating. "I'm sorry." He repeated after a short pause. "I'll _try_ to do better." He swallowed, eyes glancing down before flicking up towards the god.

"You lie weakly, my dear," Loki purred, pleased that he had cowed the mortal into cooperating somewhat. "But it pleases your master that you attempted it nonetheless." Loki didn't miss the way the man's jaw clenched at the word 'master', but approved of his silence. '_Good pet_.'He rewarded Stark with a brilliant, almost genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, and unclenched the hand in his hair, stroking it softly.

Still smiling, he stood up and picked up the mortal in his arms like he would have a child, and started walking. Dinner had been served in another room of his current lair, and he didn't think Stark would have the strength to walk there. And although it would have been amusing to watch him trip and stumble, the mortal had agreed to behave, and Loki was nothing if not a kind master.

The mortal swallowed audibly before hesitantly wrapping his arms around Loki for added security as he was carried. "Where—" Stark's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Where are we going?" he asked, quietly so his voice wouldn't betray him again.

Feeling warmth spread in his chest at the mortals shy clinging to him, Loki walked carefully so as not to jostle his precious burden. Stark was _finally_ willing to play his part, if only for a moment. It was lovely! He ignored the boyish – or was that 'fearful'? – crack in his voice and smiled down at him. "'Tis a surprise, my dear," he murmured, grinning mischievously. "Although I do hope you enjoy cake," he added cryptically. Let the mortal chew on _that._

* * *

He didn't want to, but considering all that had happened in the last few minutes, Tony decided that it was probably best for him to play the part of a good servant or slave or whatever Loki thought he was. And here Pepper accused him of having no self-preservation. Another small shiver ran through him at the sight of Loki smiling down at him. He nodded a bit at the god's mention of cake, not sure what to say to the mischievous grin on the other's lips.

They arrived soon enough, much to Tony's chagrin. One of the rooms in the factory, probably an office of some sort before, had been decked out in – _what the actual fuck_? – full birthday-party regalia. Streamers and colorful balloons hung everywhere, and there was a table with a positively _ancient_ tea set that probably hadn't seen the light of day since before the French Revolution, and a cake in green, black and gold that proudly read 'Happy Birthday Loki'.

Loki deposited Stark in one of the Louis XV chairs, upholstered in creamy velvet, and took a seat on the other one. "Surprise," he said, smiling, his eyes dancing, before grabbing the teapot. "Tea?" he asked cheerfully.

"Um, no thank you," Tony muttered, shifting in the nice chair, his eyes flicking from the ornate teapot to Loki. He didn't really care for tea and he didn't exactly trust it not to be poisoned. Common sense would dictate that it wasn't, for if Loki had wanted him dead, he would have done it already. But common sense didn't know Loki and his penchant for fucked-up mind-games.

Shrugging, Loki said, "Suit yourself," and poured some for himself. "Would you prefer some coffee, instead, my dear?" He grabbed a scone and cut it open, spreading butter on it and offering it to Tony.

Tony didn't answer the god's question though, and if he had, he would have remarked how he needed something stronger than just coffee. He looked up from the scone in Loki's hand to Loki himself, his expression dumbfounded and confused.

The alien merely arched an eyebrow and stared at him pointedly, placing the pastry on Tony's own plate. "How was your day?" he asked, smiling tightly, as if counting to ten and hoping Tony would be up for some polite conversation.

"I... don't understand..." Tony admitted slowly instead of answering, slightly shaking away his confusion. "I don't understand what's going on."

* * *

Loki tittered behind his teacup, his eyes almost closing with mirth at the mortal's confusion. "Easy, Mr. Stark," he said after taking a small sip and licking his lips dry of stray tea droplets. "You are my chosen guest for this year's celebration of the anniversary of my birth. Or should I say 'my theft'?"

Celebrating alone sucked, to use the mortal phrase, since he had found out the truth; and he always ended up drinking himself into a stupor or depressed enough to contemplate turning himself in. Stark was famous for giving excellent parties, however, and Loki had thought it would be hilarious to force him to entertain him.

"No coffee, then?" he asked, most amiably. "Maybe you would enjoy some wine instead? Please, dear pet, make yourself at home. And pass me that package right beside you, will you?"

Stark tilted his head just slightly and he was silent a few moments before he nodded again. "Actually, I'd prefer scotch. It's my favorite," he said, to Loki's delighted surprise. Sadly, though, he had nothing to say about Loki calling him 'pet', though Loki was sure he had heard it from the way his eye had twitched.

Maybe he was loath to ruin the little freedom Loki had given him for now?

At any rate, the mortal did pick up the colourfully wrapped package with its myriad bows and handed it to Loki.

The performance that came next would have qualified Loki for an award, had he been mortal. He gasped, his expression a mixture of happiness, surprise and gratitude, and grabbed the parcel with the utmost care and reverence, as if it were of great meaning and emotional importance. "Why, thank you, you shouldn't have!" he gushed, smiling, and opened the gift; for that was what it was, after all.

He had bought himself a gift and wrapped it and had just made Stark hand it to him. And there was nothing wrong with that, no matter what Stark's arched eyebrow had to say about it, as if the mortal was wondering just how far the god had fallen from sanity.

Unnoticed, Stark's teacup was suddenly full to the brim with scotch of the expensive and aged kind.

The scarf inside was green and gold and silk, and he put it on at once. The mortal hummed at the sight of the scarf, probably noticing how it matched perfectly with what Loki was already wearing. "Thank you, Anthony," Loki murmured meaningfully, still smiling softly, and placed his hand upon Stark's, gazing lovingly into his eyes.

"Um... no problem?" Stark asked slowly. He tensed at the touch and swallowed at the gaze Loki was giving him, his eyes glancing down to the table after a second, unable to stand Loki's eyes boring into his. Suddenly, he noticed his teacup was full and blinked at it, gauging whether or not he should drink from it.

"I cannot thank you enough," Loki continued, brushing a circle with his thumb on the back of Stark's hand before pulling away and returning to his tea, internally laughing his head off. The mortal's face was hilarious – what face would he make, Loki wondered, should the god tell him he was acting purposely insane?

He wasn't truly this deranged, so hot and cold... But he had found that the further from sanity he pretended to be, the more people let him get away with.

As if it were an excuse, being mad. As if it wasn't 'Loki is evil and he kidnaps people to torture them,' but 'Loki is lonely and mad and he just wants a friend, so just grin and go with it'. It was both, in reality. He wasn't wholly mad, but then again, no sane person would choose to torture themselves by forcing people who hated them into a position where they had to pretend to love him.

But Loki was practised at it.

So instead of raging at Stark for tensing when he touched him, instead of forcing him into a hug, instead of spilling his guts like a stuck pig and telling Stark about how lonely he was, how close he felt to Stark and to his brilliant mind and prickly nature, how jealous of the way Stark had to make people love him and cherish him nonetheless... Instead, he looked away briefly and sipped his tea, holding the saucer with the dainty spoon near his chest protectively, like armour; and then, when he squashed down the knot in his throat, he said, "Will you sing me that delightful song you mortals sing at birthday parties?"

* * *

In the silence that followed Loki brushing his thumb against Tony's hand, Tony decided to down the liquid in his teacup and hope for the best. He slipped his hand away from the raving alien's to grab the teacup and saucer, and Loki let him. It was indeed the scotch he had requested, and, after a sip, he threw back the entire cup, finding it to be _very good_ scotch. He couldn't help but grin a bit.

"Loki. If you get me another cup of that, I'll sing whatever you want," he stated, glancing up from the cup towards Loki, the small grin still on his lips. He was planning on getting drunk enough that he didn't care what happened or what insane thing Loki did. At least that way he wouldn't run the risk of pissing the dude off.

Putting his teacup back into its saucer with a delicate _clink_, Loki waved a hand and refilled Stark's cup, looking very pleased at Tony's genuine smile. "There you go, Anthony, no need to bargain for it. Just ask and you shall receive." Then he appeared to notice Tony still hadn't touched the scone, so he plucked it up and ate it, humming contentedly. "Do you not enjoy sweet stuffs? Would you prefer a sandwich instead? I would not want you to starve while you are my guest." He rubbed his cheek against the silky-looking scarf –which Tony found incongruously cute– and poured himself more tea.

Tony smiled widely as his cup was refilled, nodding a bit. "Alright. No bargains then," he muttered, bring the cup back up to his lips and taking a swig to wash down the cognitive dissonance he had just experienced. "I actually love sweet things," he admitted, "Donuts are my favorite, though." His cheeks hurt from the forced smile he was wearing as Loki kept rubbing his cheek against the scarf every now and then.

Tony was trying really hard not to break something to end the awkward feeling that he had. He just couldn't make sense of Loki threatening to kill him one moment then acting like his best friend the next.

* * *

Loki's eyes widened at the unprompted sharing of information. Well! _Finally_ Stark was getting along with the program. He covered up his surprised delight by pretending it was about the donuts themselves. "Ooooh," he cooed excitedly, and had he not been holding very fine porcelain, he would have clapped his hands like a child, "donuts. I shall get you some. Tell me, like you jelly within your donut? Or mayhap sprinkles 'pon it? I find I like me some with frosting of white, 'tis most delightful."

Stark shrugged, unmoved. "Any kind of chocolate. Sprinkles aren't bad either," he said before he took another sip of the amber liquor. He was obviously ignoring Loki's joy at the mention of donuts. Setting down the cup, he smiled at the god; obviously fake, but Loki appreciated the effort. "Would you like me to sing for you now?" he asked casually, looking like he was screaming internally.

Obligingly, Loki conjured some of the treat Stark preferred and nudged the platter piled with chocolate-frosted donuts over to him through the clutter of the table. "If you wish to, of course," he answered, smirking at the wild-eyed look Stark was sporting, "but I thought you were supposed to sing it when the cake is on fire..." he trailed off, tapping his lower lip in a mockery of innocent puzzlement.

He knew the mortal would soon be approaching the stage of yelling, and, weary, he mentally readied himself for smacking him down again. He _would not_ cut his party short just because the only guest was getting antsy, not after all the effort and careful planning that had gone into it. "But I will freely admit I know not the proper protocol, Anthony," he said at last, sending a warning glare at the mortal, daring him to say anything that would ruin the farce.

Tony glanced down at the pile of donuts, almost hesitantly reaching out and taking one gingerly, as it expecting it to be poisonous. "The cake doesn't have to be on fire," he stated after taking a bite. "Actually, you can sing Happy Birthday anytime, it's just most common during a person's birthday party... or some semblance of a party," he added after a short pause, glancing around nervously, highlighting the fact that with only two people it wasn't really a party.

There was a sudden determination in his eyes Loki didn't like, as if he was getting ready to do _something_ even as he took another small bite of the doughnut. The fire was back in the little phoenix's eyes.

"But of course you don't know how it goes. I wouldn't expect you to," Stark finished, sending a saccharine smile towards Loki while putting the pastry down. "Though in all honesty, normally at a 'party' there are more people than food," he said idly, glancing over the table, "and music in the background, whether it's a record or actual instruments, in the fancier ones..."

Each item he enumerated made Loki clench his teeth harder. 'O_h, but he isn't done yet,_' Loki thought bitterly.

"Also," Stark finished, batting his eyelashes at Loki innocently, being overly sweet, "you usually don't hold guests against their will."

Oh, _lovely_. "Oh, you are right!" Loki exclaimed, looking around in faked surprise as if seeing the table for the first time. "I suppose I shall have to remedy that, shan't I?" He paused just long enough to see the hope flare in Stark's face, hope that Loki would just _let him go_ only because he remarked on his lack of consent, and then clapped his hands.

From the shadows in the room, smoke rose and coalesced into chairs, the table magically expanding to fit them, porcelain and cutlery appearing from thin air. Suddenly, a haunting, discordant melody reminiscent of carnival music, only played with instruments rusted, un-tuned, fallen into decay, filled the air, and the chairs were populated with a menagerie of stuffed animals, as torn and frayed around the edges as the music, wearing colourful party hats.

"Hello, Mr. Bearclaw," Loki greeted an old stuffed bear, looking all the more sinister for his mismatched button eyes, "thank you for coming. You too, Mrs. Treetrunks," he continued, grinning widely, making sure to show all his sharp white teeth, to a stuffed elephant wearing an old, stained skirt and missing half of one ear. He greeted each animal in turn – a dog, a cat, a giraffe, a lion and, most unsettling of all, a little porcelain doll with a lazy eye and hair shorn close to her porcelain scalp – and served them tea and scones, presenting all of them to Stark, calling him his 'guest of honour'.

The mortal was sitting low in his chair, wide-eyes and sunk into himself, a blue aura of crushed hopes surrounding him. He looked very pale and was shivering slightly, and Loki knew the mortal would have nightmares about this for weeks, if he managed to sleep at all, should Loki allow him to live.

_Good._ Looking a Stark with hooded eyes and raised eyebrows as if daring him to comment, Loki waved his hands like a conductor in front of an orchestra. The dolls floated, paired off and started swaying to the eerie music in a macabre parody of a dance. "Is this more to your liking, my dear?" he purred coldly, his eyes gleaming smugly.

Stark's eyes flew to him, but he was silent for a short few moments, his eyes narrowed in thought as he looked at the god, forcibly paying no mind to the dancing dolls in the background. His mouth worked silently at first as he tried to make sense of the situation. Then, unable, he let out a wordless scream and slammed a hand on the table before getting to his feet. "I can't take it! I just—I can't! What the _hell_ is going on here?!" He shouted.

Unimpressed, Loki rose as well. "There is no need for rudeness, Anthony," he deadpanned, his voice as monotone and dark as the look in his face. "If you wished to dance as well, you needed only ask," Loki snarled, not amused, and he raised his hands palm down and started moving his fingers in front of him, like a pianist or, more accurately, a puppeteer.

Stark fell under the spell beautifully, walking jerkily to the middle of where the ghostly animals were twirling at dizzying speeds. Loki made the frightened mortal raise his arms into a waltzing position and set him dancing too, by himself at first. Then, still not satisfied and with a bitter taste cloying the back of his throat, he vanished and reappeared in Stark's arms, stepping into the moves of the dance with ease born of his natural elegance. "Is this better?" he whispered angrily at a pause in the dance, the mortal hanging from his arms in a forceful dip.

* * *

Tony flinched at the sound of his full name, almost regretting his actions as soon as Loki fixed him with his dark expression. He raised an eyebrow at the motions Loki was making, wondering what he was doing before he felt as if manacles of iron were clamped around his limbs. He tried to fight the spell, biting his lip when he realized that he couldn't, and he started getting dizzy as Loki made him twirl around, alone in the middle of the ghostly circle.

Then Loki was _there_, so close Tony could smell the tea on his breath, and the coils of magic around him tightened painfully before Loki started dancing _with _him. Tony had thought he would be cold, or slimy, but Loki's touch was normal, and that made Tony sick to his stomach. He squirmed a bit in the alien's arms as he was dipped, an angry glare in his eyes as he looked up at Loki. "No comment," he all but growled in answer, not willing to anger Loki any further by speaking his true thoughts about the forced dance, yet also tired of pretending he was fine with everything.

"Oh, prithee, hold not back _now_," Loki hissed, fuming, turning the mockery of a dance into a threatening, intimate affair by clasping his hand in a bruising grip around the back of Tony's neck and bringing him so close Tony could have counted every individual eyelash, had he wanted to. "I only wanted to have someone show joy in my birthday," Loki continued with a spat, uncaring of Tony's feelings, his eyes glowing with brimming anger. "I _know_, believe me, that you and yours wish I had never been born in the first place, but would it _kill_ you to pretend, for just one _forsaken_ hour?" His eyes narrowed dangerously in a final warning.

Tony shook his head with clenched teeth. In all truth, he had liked the god before this moment; liked him enough to want to share a drink with him that wasn't completely against his will. He didn't 'wish Loki had never been born' at all; in fact, he hadn't even thought about the alien sorcerer having birthdays. After what he thought was going to be his last birthday, he had stayed away from anything relating to them, not that he remembered anyone's but his own to begin with.

Seeing Tony had received the message, Loki closed his eyes, exhaling heavily, and softened his grip. "Apologies," he murmured, smiling gently, and kissed the Tony's cheek tenderly.

Tony forgot how to breathe at that, a somewhat startled and confused blush spreading across his cheeks.

* * *

Seeing the slight pink tinge to his cheeks, Loki's smile turned into a grin again. '_There we go again_,' he thought, tugging the stupefied mortal into a new dance. He looked up, concentrated, and the music changed to a normal, beautiful waltz, the animal dolls melting into smoke and dust, returning to the shadows as they danced once more. Just for a lark, Loki took off his scarf and put it around Stark's neck, before he changed the position of their hands, assuming that of the woman's and letting Stark lead, smiling besottedly at him. The way the blush spread down his neck and up his ears proved to be more entertaining that the whole evening so far and, deciding to see how bright he could make it, he winked.

Stark led the dance without breaking stride, though he rubbed his chin against the green and gold scarf. It really was that soft. At Loki's wink, he quickly looked away and cleared his throat. "I think you're enjoying this way too much," he muttered.

"Oh yes," Loki agreed, his voice purposely breathy. "Especially the faces you make. You are adorable," he confided right into Stark's ear, revelling in the shiver that he felt crawling up the mortal's spine. Was it disgust, he wondered, or worse: interest?

"I wouldn't say adorable..." Stark muttered, biting his lip as if trying to will back his blush. He probably couldn't tell whether the god was just toying with him or if he actually meant something by what he was saying, which was just fine by Loki.

"It was worth it after all, stealing you away," he commented, twirling in Stark's arms and picking up the pace of the dance, "but worry not, I shall not return you too badly damaged, if you keep cooperating." He was purposely vague as to what 'cooperating' meant, letting the no doubt creative mind of the mortal think up the worst possibilities.

"Really?" Stark asked softly, almost curious, watching as Loki spun in his arms. A look of worry crossed his expression at the mention of cooperating. With a gulp, he nodded, continuing the dance. "I'll have to try harder to cooperate then."

Loki laughed, genuinely amused in a way he hadn't been in a long time. "Oh, it shouldn't take too much effort, now comes the pleasant bit," he murmured, coming to a stop in synchronisation with the music, letting the mortal puzzle that one out briefly. He stepped out of Stark's embrace, already missing the warmth, however enforced and fake it had been, but kept his hand around Stark's, entwining their fingers as he guided him back to the table.

The music was starting again, so Loki waved a hand to mute it, cutting it short. "Not too much longer now, methinks," he mused, putting Stark in his seat and pushing it towards the table, trapping him there with a spell. "Just the cake ritual and I shall set you free," he explained, parting from his guest with one last, lingering stroke of the back of his head and taking his own seat. "Now, I seem you recall you promised to sing for me," he said conversationally, grinning, and the candles on the cake abruptly caught on fire, reflecting on the golden decorations. Loki leaned on the table, resting his chin in his hand, and awaited the song, eyes fixed upon Stark's rapturously.

* * *

Softly chewing his bottom lip as Loki stepped away, Tony couldn't decide whether he missed the closeness – what was _wrong _with him? – or whether he was relieved. He glanced at the cake, hoping against all hope that was the last thing before he could leave. He tried to push back his chair because he was so close the table that the edge was cutting into his ribs, but a pout appeared on his lips when he found he couldn't.

"Just the cake and song?" he questioned, looking up from the table to Loki. The candles caught fire all of a sudden, the flames at least three inches tall and green, making Tony flinch back, before becoming normal sized and orange. He swallowed. "I'm guessing only bad things happen if I don't, right?" he asked slowly, his gaze turning back towards Loki.

The alien's smile fell. "You guess right," he said, his voice very, very level, as if holding back the growling tones by will alone. "I know you love challenging authority, especially when it is not deserved, but please," his tone sweetened and gentled, "resist. I wish not to spoil the last of our time together with _bad things_."

He left that purposely vague, Tony was sure. He probably didn't even have an actual _bad thing_ in mind. Tony knew it would be hard to top smashing his lifeline to show him who's boss, and even that hadn't worked so well, he liked to believe. It had been an hour of permanent power play, a tug o' war between the two of them.

Loki watched him curiously in silence for a while, before saying quietly, "Just sing, eat some cake, and I shall return you safely home."

Tony nodded at Loki's words. He hadn't been planning on resisting anymore, in all honesty; he just wanted to know if Loki was still going to force him to play along – which apparently he was. He was quiet a few moments, trying to scrounge up the courage to actually sing 'Happy Birthday' to the alien. He had never been one for singing, even though his voice wasn't terrible.

Taking a deep breath, a light blush settling on his cheeks again, he starting to sing to Loki. It was a bit rushed and a lot awkward without a chorus of people singing with him, and he finished with a slight cough. "There, I sang... Now, um, cake?" he asked awkwardly, trying to play the part through his embarrassment at having to sit alone and sing.

* * *

Loki, flushed with pleasure, could only nod. If he had been less flustered, he would have clapped mockingly and made a clever quip about how the mortal may call himself a phoenix but sang like a chicken on fire, but he was honestly too pleased to insult Stark and put him in his place. Belatedly remembering that the Midgardian ritual called for the fire to be extinguished before the cake was eaten, he hastily made three token wishes – one for happiness, such as could be achieved by him; the second for an agreement in the price of the rent the apartment he wanted; and, lastly, remembering he still had one left, happiness for Stark, because why not? – and blew out the candles in a powerful gust.

Too powerful, to be sure, for the candles flew away too. Stark laughed. Loki blushed at his lack of control, cleared his throat, pretending nothing was amiss. It seemed to amuse the mortal, for he tried and failed to contain his smile, saying lightly, "Well, you really blew the candles out."

Sending him a warning glance out the corner of his eye, Loki snapped his fingers. Two perfectly cut slices of cake detached themselves from the whole and floated to his and Stark's plates. He had made sure to bake Stark's favourite, at least according to numerous gossip websites, and he hoped the mortal would enjoy it. Hel deserved _some_ reward for being put through Loki's crazy act. "There, eat," he ordered curtly, refilling Stark's teacup with scotch one last time with a pass of his hand.

Noticing his teacup was full again, Stark took a swig, a grin on his lips as he swallowed the scotch and looked back at Loki knowingly. Then, apparently judging (correctly) that he would be yelled at for not at least eating some of the dessert, he picked up his fork and took a bite, his eyes lighting up as he chewed. Taking another sip of scotch, he looked back up at Loki and hummed. "Thanks," he muttered softly before quickly looking back down at the cake in his plate.

Once the mortal had eaten, his contract, so to speak, was fulfilled. '_I'll be sad to see him go,_' Loki realised, surprised, as he took a bite of his own piece. Not bad, for a first attempt. Maybe he should quit his day job as a villain and work in a bakery. The thought amused him, and he smiled faintly. "You are welcome," he replied, taking another bite, wishing to prolong the last few minutes of tentative peace.

But it was futile. He could not keep the mortal like some favoured pet – worse, he _wouldn't_ do that to Stark. It would shame him to have to break the man's spirit to make him stop wanting to flee Loki's presence, or to have him come running to meet him, glassy-eyed, when Loki called, or make him keep his clever mouth smothered under threats of pain. Though the image of Stark – or anyone, really – smiling at him under their own will pleased Loki inordinately, he would very much prefer if he didn't have to force him by wearing him down day after day. The constant uphill battle may amuse him, in a way, but eventually Stark would give in – or worse, give up – and he would lose that fire that had enthralled Loki in the first place.

So it was with a heavy heart and a light conscience that Loki reached into his pockets while chewing a mouthful of cake and gingerly withdrew the real arc reactor, undamaged, shining and humming in all its glory, and handed it over to Stark while looking carefully away, unable to meet his eyes. "Here, take this. My magic has sustained the magnet in your chest, but it will no more the second I lose sight of you."

It was implicit permission for him to get up and leave, which he expected Stark to do as soon as he had the battery in his hands.

* * *

Tony was overjoyed as Loki showed the arc reactor to him. It felt like seeing a long-lost friend after years of missing them. But he hesitated to take it.

"So, I can take this back and leave?" he asked, as he slowly reached for the arc reactor, almost expecting Loki to snatch it back. Gently taking the device from Loki's hand, he turned it over in his own, inspecting it for any abnormalities or scratches or tampering. After finding it to be fine, he quickly placed it back in his chest, taking a deep breath of relief and relaxing against the chair.

It was then that it hit Tony how lonely Loki must be that he had to kidnap the one guest to his birthday party and only kept him there under threat of death. Sure, Loki had probably enjoyed threatening him and seeing the panic and fear on his face throughout the time he was being held captive, but Tony couldn't believe that all this didn't have a purpose.

Loki was lonely and, to be honest, so was Tony. He knew that he shouldn't, and what was going to do was crazy and anyone watching would point and yell 'Stockholm Syndrome' but, at the moment, he felt like he couldn't leave the alien alone, even though he had been forced to stay.

Speaking of... A bit of payback might or might not be in order. Tony wanted to fuck with Loki's mind after being freaked out so badly.

"I can just get up and walk away anytime I want?" Tony checked again, pushing back the chair some and propping his feet up on the table as he leaned back. Old-style French chairs weren't made to rock in, but it was for show anyway. "You know, I think I'll stay for the cake." He commented, reaching over and picking up the teacup, keeping his little finger up in the air, downing the rest of the liquid. "And the scotch."

* * *

Stark's words struck Loki speechless. For this moment, truly, his famed silver tongue had turned to lead.

"If – if you wish," was all Loki could manage, blinking away his confusion. _Why_ would Stark wish to remain? He racked his brains and wringed and toiled again and still he could not imagine a reason. The cake was good, if he did say so himself, and so was the liquor... But surely that wasn't truly the reason? Stark was the wealthiest person in the world, surely, _surely_ he had had better. And of course it couldn't be for Loki's delightful company, not after the way he had all but tortured him both physically and psychologically...

He simply didn't know what to say, so he ate and drank some tea, not looking at the man.

But then he heard the snicker.

And a thought came unbidden. The mortal must be _playing_ with him. Oh, surely we was having a great deal of fun at the moment, finally pulling one over Loki, making him fumble for words and second-guess himself. He scoffed, scowling. "Have the cake, then, if you want it. I dislike sweets," a blatant lie, "and surely you will enjoy it more in the company of you little team of rag-tag so-called heroes."

The impudent human was grinning when Loki turned to stare, not amused, at him. He set the teacup down and took another bite of the cake, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he chewed. It was as if he was playing with fire, seeing how long it took him to get burned; only, with Loki, 'getting burned' meant going out in a body bag, or perhaps even being tossed out the window.

Either that or Stark was loath to return to his friends and admit he had been kidnapped by a deranged villain.

"Oh, come on," the mortal said conversationally, "even _I_ know that's a lie." He had the gall to smirk at Loki's scowl. "Actually, if I shared this with them, I'm sure that Thor would eat it all. No one else really likes sweets." He calmly took another bite of cake as he watched the god's reaction.

Loki sneered. "Of course he would, he's always been a glutton," he snapped, putting his dainty teacup down on the saucer a little too strongly for a composed person. He had a slew of vitriol ready to pour out against Thor, but realised that giving into that taunt would be tantamount to falling into Stark's trap and remained silent, though quietly simmering. "If you are hoping I will entertain you, you can think again, mortal. I wish you gone." He didn't, not really; he just didn't know what to do with him, now that he was staying willingly. Anything but leaving. Simply poofing out of existence and letting Stark _win_? No, just no.

Stark nodded a bit at Loki's reply, the mocking, smug grin a seemingly permanent fixture on his face. "You don't have to entertain me. I'm here for the cake, remember?" he stated. With a bit of a shrug, he glanced around the room. "What, you can't tell me you want me to _leave_ now? After all you did to make me stay?" He pouted. "I'm hurt," he said, putting a hand over his arc reactor, looking for all the world extremely wounded. Loki should never have returned it him.

And that was the drop of liquid that made the cup overflow. Loki _would not_ be ridiculed.

Incensed, Loki sat up and levelled a frankly impressive glare at the man. "Of course I want you to leave, _vermin_," he spat, sneering. "Do not think I will suffer being the butt of your private jokes," he said calmly with an eyebrow raised in mockery.

Stark blinked at Loki's glare, though he couldn't wipe a small smile off his lips. "I don't believe I've made any jokes about you," he replied calmly, leaning forward slightly, anxiously. Loki knew Stark knew he hadn't so much crossed the line as sprinted through it like the end of a race.

'_Ah, to be privy to Stark's thoughts would be wonderful just now_,' Loki thought. But no, he didn't need to see into his head to know just the thing to say to drive him away. He grinned, deranged and amused. "It was fun while it lasted, having a_ pet_ to break in," his voice dripped sarcasm. "But now the mangy cur has ceased being _cute_, and should it persist in bothering its _master_... Well." He chuckled, low and dangerous, and then his smile fell. "Maybe the master will _tire of him_."

He formed a fist, suddenly, and his magic constricted around Stark's throat just as tightly. '_Let us see if you can still laugh at me if you can't breathe_.'

Stark's eyes widened with the standard 'oh shi—' look as Loki choked him from a distance. He looked like he wanted to say something, probably a retort to Loki's 'mangy cur' remark, but he found it hard to get out anything much more than a whimper. His hands clawed at his neck as if to pull the invisible grip away, leaving gouges with his fingernails, as his lips turned blue-ish.

Loki watched, dispassionate and disgusted at the mortal's weakness, as his face turned purple. Stark held his eyes, his own gleaming with hate and hurt, up until the point they unfocused – his vision must have been going black – and he closed his eyes.

'_No, idiot, don't close your eyes, don't give up,_' the though rose, unbidden, in Loki's head, and his eyes widened.

It appeared he liked Stark's defiant streak, after all. Feeling terribly confused, Loki relaxed his grip momentarily, considering for one wild second that maybe Stark had actually wished to stay in his company because he liked it, not just to make a jest of it, and that it had been Loki's own insecurities that had coloured the way he perceived his words and actions.

But then he got a grip on himself and squashed his hope forcefully down. Of course Stark didn't like Loki, he thought bitterly, enraged for even thinking it, and he flicked his wrist, sending Stark tumbling away harshly.

The mortal made a whimpering sound when he crashed into the floor and bounced from the force, and Loki found himself smiling as he walked towards him. Screw sitting side by side, sharing a meal like _friends_. _These_ were their proper places: Stark, winded, at his mercy, and Loki towering over him, fully in control. "Are you ready to leave now?" he asked, voice velvet-soft and sugar-sweet, as he came to a stop not a foot from the mortal.

* * *

Tony had sucked in air greedily as soon as his brain caught up with the fact that Loki was allowing him to breathe again. Goddam it, he _hated_ being asphyxiated; it was worse than being drowned with a battery strapped to his chest.

He didn't register Loki had tossed him aside like a bug until he felt the floor slamming into him, his head bouncing painfully on it. The force expelled the precious air from his lungs in a whimper as he landed in a heap. He stayed motionless, gasping, clutching at his throat, checking it was still in one piece or something. It was bloody, his skin stinging in places.

Once his vision mostly cleared of black spots, he rolled onto his back. As he struggled to sit up, he bit his lip to stifle a whimper, his chest screaming in pain around the reactor casing. He glanced up and saw Loki looming over him like some kind of angel of death, his eyes gleaming like the Killing Curse – later he would look back on that thought and blame it on the bump to the head – and Tony's gaze quickly turned back towards the floor as a smile spread across his lips.

"If you're still kicking me out, then sure," he answered with a mutter and sheepish grin. As insane as he thought it was, he had actually enjoyed pissing off the alien wizard with a murderous streak, getting a rise out of him.

When Loki remained silent, staring him down, Tony decided he wasn't going to kill him horribly and got to his feet shakily. He nodded towards Loki in acknowledgement. "Next time, I should bring my suit. Maybe level the playing field a bit."

* * *

Loki realised his heart was pumping fast. It had been a while since he had last had a fight-or-flight response this strong. "I would rather you did not. In fact," he started, sticking out a hand and calling his scarf back to him. It came alright, along with the neck it was still wrapped around, delivering Stark straight into Loki's waiting hand, which closed around his chin, keeping his head steady as he pinned him with his eyes like a bug with a stick. "...I would rather not see you again, at all," he whispered right into Stark's face before grabbing the end of the scarf and pulling it off him slowly, every inch of the silken material dragging across Stark's neck, soaking up the blood.

One never knew when the blood of one's best enemy might come in handy.

Once done, he straightened and said, in his coldest, most regal polite-second-prince voice, "Apologies for the rough treatment and thank you for attending my celebration. You are dismissed," without really looking at him, and walked away, returning to his seat. He flopped down on it and pointedly did not watch as the mortal left.

Taking a deep breath, Stark stepped back and walked towards the door, only pausing in the doorway for a moment as he almost looked back at the god. "Don't lie to yourself," he muttered, before quickly leaving the building.

It was hard to tell whether the mortal had been talking to himself or to Loki, but Loki didn't care. He _wouldn't_ care.

Snarling, he kicked the leg of the table out from under it. The table-top tilted, spilling the old, museum-worthy tea set and the pile of pastries and sandwiches and cake to the floor.

Tony didn't look back even once as he left the old factory and asked directions to the nearest payphone to call Happy to come get him. He waited sitting on the curb, touching his neck every now and then to check if it was still bleeding and whistling ADCD tunes.

Happy took one look at him and paled, running out of the car to Tony's side. He asked whether Tony wanted him to take him to a hospital or to a police station first, to which Tony scoffed, rudely telling him it was none of his business, and told him to get him home.

As he watched the cars zip by out the window, he resolved to forget everything that had happened. He was going to drink until he passed out then drink some more, most likely. But not scotch, for a few weeks at the very least.

* * *

**The End**

* * *

**A/N:** So. I hope you enjoyed the circus :). Don't forget to comment, either to praise or concrit, all is good. (Except flames. Flames will be printed posted on my wall and ridiculed publicly.) And if you wish to contact CirqueduDemonata, you can do so at her hotmail. Same nickname, only add at and hotmail and dot com.

Love,

~Pluma Desatada


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